«At the new moon, he walked out, / The friend I loved. I’ll be okay! / “Tightrope dancer,” He joked loud, / “How will you survive till May?” As to a brother, I replied then, / Without gripes or jealousy, / But four new cloaks just aren’t likely / To replace this loss for me. ...»
«There’s an owl sewn — don’t stir — / Onto the pillow near us, / O, gray Moorka, do not purr, / My grandfather will hear us. / Nanny, candles will not burn, / Mice are scratching, fearless, / Why was that owl ever sewn? / I’m scared of his appearance. »
«Farewell, farewell, great unwashed Russia, / All lords and slaves who are our nation, / And you, blue-uniformed oppression, / And you, conformant population. Behind the Caucasus’ tall wall I’ll / Hide from your sultan’s officers, / From their all-seeing eagle eyes / And sensitive...»
«Farewell forever, unwashed Russia! / O land of slaves, of masters cruel! / And you, blue-uniformed oppressors! / And you, meek nation whom they rule! / / Beyond the Caucasus’ high ridges, / I may be safe from your viziers — / far from those eyes — unseen, all-seeing — / and...»